


Foxy Boxing

by sabinelagrande



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Boxing, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Gym Sex, Rough Body Play, Sparring, Tit Slapping, Tit Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony needs a little more than a punching bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foxy Boxing

The gym is empty when Tony gets there, which is nice. Technically, this is his private gym, and nobody but him, Pepper, and Happy should be in it ever, but his tower has recently been taken over who are very disrespectful of his AI, and privacy is no more.

He sets his towel and his water bottle down near the punching bag, stretching a little before he gets started. Tony hates the punching bag; it has no personality, can't do anything to goad or encourage him. It just hangs there, completely mundane and non-threatening.

Boring.

But Happy's off today, so if he wants to work out, the punching bag it is. He tries to put a face on it, someone he hates, but removing all the choices that aren't depressing just leaves Justin Hammer, and Tony's certain he could drop Hammer's reedy little ass with one punch. He's barely gotten started when the door to the gym slides open, and Tony catches the bag, steadying it, thanking whatever deity's handy for the distraction.

While Coulson's gone somewhere with Barton and Natasha, there are SHIELD types in and out; not surprisingly, it takes more than one of them to fill in for Coulson, and Tony's almost gotten used to having his space so casually taken over. This one's been around for a while, a youngish brunette with the usual bizarre mix of skills that SHIELD agents tend to have- though, regrettably, she's never posed for any sexy pictures. She was on Coulson's linguistics team in New Mexico, she subbed in a couple of times for various agents in surveillance, but now she's on Tony's security detail. She's one of the sly ones, the ones who never seem to pop up except when Tony is about to do something very fun.

"Mister Stark," she says, putting her gym bag down on a bench next to the wall.

"Agent-" he clicks his fingers. "Osborne? Ostriker? Olafson? You all have 'son' names, is that a SHIELD requirement?"

She gives him a 'cut the bullshit' look, which is definitely a SHIELD requirement. "You have the files of everyone who's ever been in this building memorized down to the last letter," she says, sounding bored. "You like to complain to Director Fury using very specific critiques of individual agents, even though you tend to mostly refer to them collectively as 'those assclowns.' You did testing to find who ate your popcorn and got it right, even though SHIELD agents have their records wiped from non-agency DNA and fingerprint databases. JARVIS is recording me right now in case I try to break your neck." She opens her hands. "Am I getting anywhere close?"

Tony looks at her.

"Spar with me," he says.

Ozell sizes him up. "Let me get my gloves on," she replies.

He climbs into the ring, and she's right behind him, pulling up the ropes and walking towards him, adjusting the velcro on her gloves before she squares off against him. He takes stock of her, looking for weaknesses. She's maybe an inch taller and she outweighs him, but that only means he's got the advantage in speed; she's nowhere near Happy's size, so he's got this one, easy. He moves around her, practicing his footwork a little, but she doesn't let him out of her sight.

"Did you come to box, or did you come to dance?" she says, fists up, shifting her weight in that particular way that people who came up playing Mortal Kombat do- there are _agents_ who spent their _childhoods_ playing _Mortal Kombat_ , and there's nothing like pop culture to remind Tony of his age.

Tony's the one who throws the first punch, and she deflects it like it's nothing, sending another one his way. He can see the way she's holding back, giving him a little and no more, like she's scared to hurt him. "Gotta step up your game, Ozell," he says, and this time he connects. "I thought all you agents knew Krav Maga."

"I'm trying to spar with you, not kill you," she says, hitting him with a one-two that he should have seen coming. She gets him again, and again, grinning all the while, even when he lands a couple blows. He's got to do something to get this on track, because he's not winning right now. 

Tony knows an unfair advantage when he sees one, and he's not above it; as soon as he has an opening, he reaches out and slaps her right in the tit.

"The fuck, Stark?" she says, but she doesn't look mad about it. "This isn't foxy boxing."

"I dunno," he says, blocking another stomach punch. "I am pretty foxy."

She laughs. "If you're trying to get me to kick you in the balls, I ain't into that."

"Let's leave the ball kicking out of this," he says. "I plan to use those."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Now _that's_ interesting. "Agent Ozell, are you suggesting something?"

"I'm not the one who brought up your balls," she says. "There should be some innuendo right here, but I'm having trouble coming up with it."

"Probably because it's too easy," Tony says. This fight is getting a little too easy, and Tony is getting kind of bored. "You're not representing your organization very well, agent. I think you're going soft on me."

"Mister Stark, are you suggesting something?" she parrots. "Because if you want to play rough, we can play rough. Your call, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'm a big fan of rough," Tony says, as dirtily as possible. "Rough we can do."

She shrugs, rolling her shoulders. "You got it," she says, and without warning she launches herself at him. He barely puts his arms up in time to keep from getting punched in the face, but it doesn't save his stomach. It takes him a second to get his shit together, because she's left boxing behind and gone MMA on his ass. She puts him in a hold, but he manages to break it, squaring off against her again. "Now _this_ is a fight," Tony says.

She grins. "We aim to please."

"You aim to please yourself," he says.

"Too true," she says, and while she's still distracted talking he goes for her, catching her by the stomach and driving her back against the ropes. He presses his luck, slapping both her tits this time, one after the other; she looks scandalized, so he does it again, though he's preparing to get kneed in the crotch. But instead, she reaches back and swats his ass a couple of times, grabbing a handful of it for good measure. Her gloves are smaller, lighter, and she can still dig her fingernails into his skin through his shorts. This is kind of a slap fight now, and nobody seems to be winning, but Tony's having a good time anyway.

He realizes suddenly that he's grinding up against her, and he's not sure what to do; her hand is still on his ass, and _surely_ she must have noticed by now that they're basically dry humping. But she just grins at him, and he raises his eyebrows at her.

And then she pushes him sharply backwards and sweeps his legs out from under him, and then he's looking at her face, haloed by the harsh light from above. She's straddling him, bearing down, and she catches his wrists before he catches on, pinning him.

"JARVIS," he calls. "I need a ten-count." He takes another look at her. "And I need you to lock the doors."

"Done, sir."

As JARVIS starts his measured, calm counting, she grins. "Ten, sir," JARVIS says, before Tony's ready for it.

"Ready for round two?" Tony says, watching her as she moves down his body; she's still got his hands pinned on either side of his waist, but she lets one of them go momentarily so that she can pull his shorts down, exposing his hard cock to the cool air of the gym. "So that's happening," he says, because he just can't think of anything else that's appropriate for this situation. "I thought you won."

She puts her hand back on his wrist, her face close enough to his dick that he can feel her breath. "Are you going to complain?"

"Who said anything about compl-" He breaks off, gasping as she takes his cock into her mouth. His head hits the mat with a thud, and she grips his wrists tighter as his fingers scrabble for purchase. She's really, really good at this, and it would be a great idea to just come and call it a day; it's just that he knows somehow that that would mean he loses, though he's not quite sure why.

He's not losing.

It's hard to think of strategy when someone's doing their level best to suck his brain out through his dick, but then she pulls back, giving him a sexy look, and there's his opening- no pun intended. He surges forward, thinking he's caught her off-guard, but she catches him before he gets too far. They're struggling now, fighting each other for it, and damned if that doesn't make it hotter. They're both sweaty and it's rough and Tony can't get enough of it.

Just when he thinks he's lost, she lets up on him momentarily, distracted by something; he doesn't know if she's thrown the match, but he also doesn't care. He slams her down, grabbing for her shorts and shucking them off, yanking at them when they get stuck on her sneakers. There's a little bit of "Are you on-" and "Yeah, _do_ it-" and he hikes her legs up over his shoulders, pushing inside of her. She throws her head back, arching towards him as he fucks her, and it hasn't been this good since- well, it hasn't been this good all week, and it's already Friday.

He's doing something right, because she's coming apart underneath him, coming around him, and he grins, moving faster. She's naive if she thinks this is over; he's just won, but there's nothing like rubbing it in, especially when it involves making her come again, just to prove he can do it.

But eventually he can't hold out any longer; he pushes her knees up towards her chest, thrusting into her raggedly, uncontrolled, until he finally reaches it, collects his winnings, ends the game. He pulls out of her, rolling to the side, resting his head on his hand and looking up at the ceiling. He feels spent and satisfied, in a way that goes beyond sex, one that he's really, really fond of already.

There's a cough, and he looks over at Ozell, frowning; she just gives him a sheepish look and points across the room. He lifts his head to look, wondering how long he's going to have to spend overhauling JARVIS to get out all the modifications made by all the people JARVIS has grown fond of.

Pepper is looking at the two of them with her lips pursed, her arms crossed over her chest.

Tony looks back at Ozell, and Ozell shrugs.

"Take your shoes off," he tells Pepper. 

"In the gym, Tony?" she asks, exasperated.

"And your stockings," he tells her. "You'll yell at me if you get a run."

Pepper sighs, shaking her head.

And then she puts her foot up on the bench, reaching for the strap on her heel.


End file.
